


You Won't Feel So Alone

by dangerousdaydream



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Brother Feels, Mycroft is off to Oxford, Sherlock doesn't want him to go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-26
Updated: 2013-01-26
Packaged: 2017-11-27 00:40:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/656100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dangerousdaydream/pseuds/dangerousdaydream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Now, of course Mycroft knew that one day he was going to have to leave home, leave Sherlock behind to further his education, but never did he actually consider how he would tell him he wasn't coming back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Won't Feel So Alone

**Author's Note:**

> This was written in response to the prompt, "Mycroft telling Sherlock that he got into Oxford, meaning he'll be leaving home soon". Writing it made me kind of sad, actually. Also, a headcanon of mine is that when Mycroft went off to school, he gave Sherlock the magnifier he uses all the time. So sweet brotherly moments all around, whoo!

Autumn was the time for school to start again. For young adults in their last year of high school to apply to colleges and universities that they wished to attend to further their education. Autumn held both the promise of a better future and the crippling fear that said future was right around the corner and before you knew it it was right in front of you, staring you down, completely unafraid of how the change would affect you. Autumn was the time of year that most teenagers dreaded.

Mycroft Holmes was no exception to that rule.

He was a few years ahead of his peers, so he had to discover the overwhelming dread that threatened to pull you into a sea of despair much earlier than most did. The applications themselves were no trouble, nor were the essays required for most. It was the /waiting/ that was excruciating. The time in between applying and the letter that arrived at your home that determined whether or not you were in. Mycroft applied to a good number of schools with ease and he had it in his head that he wasn't as emotionally invested in the outcome as his peers, and for a while he was able to convincingly behave accordingly. But three weeks before he was to receive word from Cambridge and Oxford, he cracked. He began tapping his fingers anxiously, he lost sleep over worrying... Hell, he could feel the tension building in his school as each day passed.

And then the letter arrived.

Mycroft sat in his bedroom with the unopened envelope in his hand, fingers trembling only slightly as he slid his letter opener into one corner and dragged it across the top, slicing it perfectly and revealing the letter that sealed his fate inside. He took a deep breath as he removed the letter and opened it, eyes scanning the first three lines of the text before a ridiculous smile passed over his lips.

He got in. He was going to Oxford in the autumn. There shouldn't have been much doubt, but he couldn't help but feel nervous as time elapsed. Still, he was accepted, and he was going away to uni. He was excited for all of five minutes before a soft knock sounded at his door and his stomach dropped.

"Myc? I know you're busy with homework and stuff, but can you help me?"

Sherlock.

Now, of course Mycroft knew that one day he was going to have to leave home, leave Sherlock behind to further his education, but never did he actually consider how he would tell him he wasn't coming back. Not to live, anyway. The elder Holmes got up off of his bed and walked over to his closed door, one hand rubbing the back of his neck as the other rested on the doorknob for a moment too long. He swung the door open and smiled down at his brother, who for some reason had a dead bird in his hands. The neck had obviously snapped and the boy looked exuberant, his cloudy blue eyes wide with childlike wonder.

"It hit my window and this was what happened! Look, look at its neck!" Sherlock looked down at the bird, smiling wildly before he looked back up at Mycroft. "It broke it, didn't it? What, did it hit the window too hard?"

Mycroft nodded. "The trajectory and speed at which the bird was flying were both too great for it to stop before impact." He leaned down and pointed at a particularly nasty bone that was protruding from its neck. "See that? When the bird realized it was going to hit the window, it tried to move so the damage would be minimal, but it miscalculated."

"How?" Sherlock asked, looking from his brother to the bird in his hands and back again. "What was its mistake?"

Mycroft smiled fondly at Sherlock before he answered. "It underestimated how hard your window was. Plexiglas is usually what most are made of, but you broke that when you were six."

The boy giggled. "Oh, right."

Mycroft looked over at his bed, at the letter that laid upon it, then his gaze returned to Sherlock. "Do you want to come in? I could teach you more about this bird if you'd like."

Sherlock was beaming at the thought, bouncing up and down on his heels excitedly as he nodded. "Are you sure you're not too busy with homework? Or teenage boy things? It's okay if you are, you don't have to."

Mycroft chuckled, shaking his head. "I'm not busy. Come on, then. But you have to listen to me, okay? And don't touch anything unless I direct you to."

Thirty minutes later, the books that had once been scattered on top of Mycroft's desk were now stacked neatly beside his bed, and the desktop had been transformed into a makeshift operating table. Both boys were wearing gloves and staring at the now cut open bird. One long incision from base of the neck down to its abdomen, its heart the only organ removed. Sherlock was looking at that now, leaning over to get a better look at it.

Mycroft bit his lip for a moment as he watched, then he went over to the dresser on the other side of the room and picked up a strange-looking slim piece of black plastic. He walked back to Sherlock and handed it to the boy. "Here, use this."

Sherlock looked confused for a moment, until he pulled both sides apart and a magnifier appeared. He smiled brightly and looked up at Mycroft. "Thank you!" He turned back to the bird and leaned over, looking through the new toy. He made a few curious sounds, then closed it again and attempted to hand it back.

Mycroft shook his head. "No, that's for you to keep. It's a five times magnifier, the lens itself made of plexiglas and thirty millimeters in diameter. I figured it would come in handy when..." he trailed off, unsure of how to continue. He had to tell him.

"When what, Myc?" Sherlock turned to his brother and frowned deeply at the look on his face. "You okay?"

Mycroft removed his gloves and smiled softly at his brother. "I'm fine," he lied, just as a sad jolt shot through his heart at the thought of leaving him. Of missing Sherlock learn more and grow and reach puberty, which was awkward and uncomfortable and he would no doubt have questions. Questions Mycroft would have answered if he were here, but he wouldn't be. Of everything in the manor that he would miss, nothing compared to the boy who looked at him with concerned eyes now. "Let's see how those bones were affected by the impact."

It took twenty minutes for Sherlock to fall silent, unresponsive for the most part and suddenly very sad. Mycroft stopped his explanation of the fusion of bones when he noticed and he turned to his brother, who had tears in his eyes. "It isn't the bird, is it?" he asked softly.

The boy shook his head. "You're leaving," he said simply, not looking at Mycroft as he stared down at the magnifier in his hand. "Don't deny it, I know. I may only be nine, but I know things. You're going to uni and you can't take me with you."

Mycroft sighed sadly and nodded. "I was accepted into Oxford."

"You were?" Sherlock asked excitedly, looking up at his brother. "I'm so proud of you!" He smiled for a second, then whimpered sadly and wrapped his arms around his brother's leg. "No, no you can't go... If you leave, who's gonna explain things to me and talk to me when I'm scared at night and who will hold me after a nightmare? You can't go, Myc, you just can't."

Mycroft knelt down and pulled his brother into his arms, falling silent for a moment as he tried to think of what to say. "Hey. Do you remember when I had that conference in Sussex with my class last year and I was gone for a whole week?"

Sherlock nodded, his face buried in Mycroft's neck. "Yeah. I kept hoping you came home early because I missed you so much."

"But do you remember how excited you were to see me and how we told each other stories late into the night that first day I was back?"

"Yeah..."

"What if I promise to come home as often as I can, even if it's only for a night or two on a weekend? And you can call me whenever you want."

Sherlock nodded, hugging his brother's neck tighter. "Just... Just as long as you don't forget about me."

"I could never forget about you, Sherlock."

The boy hiccuped. "Promise?"

"I promise."

"Good." He kissed his cheek quickly and turned back to the bird. "Why's its head turned that way? And why didn't its spine pierce its brain? Look at the way it jutted out of the feathers!"

Mycroft chuckled to himself as he stood up. When the day came and he would have to leave home, he knew it wouldn't be easy. Not at all. But Sherlock would be okay, so long as they still talked. And if the boy didn't want to focus on Mycroft's inevitable departure just yet, that was fine by him. There was too much to teach Sherlock, anyway.


End file.
